Get off of my back
by Ashabird
Summary: After escaping the war in England Harry has found peace in living his life out in his animagus form, that is until Voldemort needed a ride. Drabble, Harry/Voldemort, Horse!Harry, Slash. ABANDONED, PLEASE ADOPT!
1. Chapter 1

Three Years Later

Harry had lived in his animagus form for almost three years now, and he had admit, it was the best three years of his life.

At first, living as a horse had been Harry's only way to avoid the massive manhunt that had ensued after Voldemort took over the ministry. Hermione, as a hare, Ron, as a dog, and Harry, as a horse, fled Britain with the intention of going back someday but Ron was the only one who returned. Hermione became deathly ill one day and died the next, leaving both Ron and Harry devastated.

Ron was more determined than ever to return, but Harry had become disillusioned to the Order's cause. Hermione hadn't been killed by death eater, but by a disease. Why go looking for someone to blame?

Ron left. Harry never saw him again.

Harry didn't blame him. Ron had a family after all, but Harry had nothing to go back to, so…He went forward. He traveled the continent on four legs. He went to all those places he had only heard about but had never seen. He traveled through France, Spain and Italy, and then to Greece. He went over titanic mountains and swam across rivers so vast he couldn't see the other bank. He saw both extraordinary magic and ordinary miracles that he had never appreciated before. He went to Asia and Russia, and he even visited Egypt in honor of Bill.

Harry never acknowledged just how unhappy he was being the savior of the wizarding world until he was free to do as he pleased. And Harry realized something amazing during his travels. The world wasn't ending. Voldemort taking over the Ministry hadn't caused the world to spin off its axis and it didn't cause plagues, famine, natural disasters, or wide-spread terror. Everything continued as it always had.

The sun rose and it set.

The seasons came and they went.

The world birthed new life and took old life in exchange.

In the grand scheme of things nothing had changed at all! Despite everything he had been taught to believe, the world simply didn't give a damn about some Dark Lord in England, and it simply kept moving along.

Harry just kept moving along.

After three year living as an animal Harry didn't think of the world in terms of countries, so when he bedded down in a meadow with a blessing of unicorns he had been traveling with for a few days, he didn't realize just how close he was to danger.

Blessing- a herd of unicorn, usually one male and multiple females.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry never saw it coming.

Sure he was an awesome looking horse, even he'd attest to that, and over the years there had been plenty of muggles that had tried to catch him. They'd offer him delicious treats or try to trap him in nets or ropes, but none of them had ever come close to succeeding.

That is until now.

"Get'em boys!" Came a shout from the edge of the meadow, and suddenly the dark night was bathed in red light.

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

Harry scrambled to his hooves as panicking unicorns began to fall all around him. A red beam struck his flank, but was ineffective as Harry reared and tried to see above the madness. From the tree line surrounding the small meadow he could see at least ten wizards advancing, some of whom were mounted on horses, shooting spells that made the unicorns keel over but did nothing to him. Soon he was the only one left standing and the wizards finally noticed the black stallion among the stunned herd.

"Hey Fletch! Look there! That ain't no unicorn," called out one of the wizards to Harry's right. Another stunner was shot at him, to no effect, and Harry wasn't to keen on waiting until they figured out something that did work. His muscles surged as he leapt over the fallen unicorns and raced towards a gap in their line.

"Get'em! That's no ordinary horse!"

Sprinting past the wizards Harry barreled through the undergrowth and into the forest. His heart was slamming inside his chest and the fear of capture spurred him on. Harry could hear the mounted wizard pursuing him but soon they were so far behind he began to slow. Panting with exertion Harry laughed in relief, though it came out as a whinny.

Now that he believed the wizard had given up on catching him, Harry could take a moment to access the situation. The first conclusion he drew was that the wizards were Englishmen, he could tell that much from their accents. The second was that they were most likely not death eaters. As far as Harry knew death eaters had no interest in unicorns. Most likely they were unicorn poachers who killed and harvest unicorn horns. But then why would they stun the unicorns rather than just killing them?

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when something black and equine erupted from the shadows. Literally from the shadows! The thing screamed at him as it lunged, its eyes and the insides of its mouth were bright, searing red. Harry reared in shock, lashing out with his hooves to keep the demon horse at bay, and another materialized behind him. Each of the horses carried a rider, and Harry realized just how stupid he was to think that they had given up.

"We gotch'a now!" Shouted one the men as he lassoed a thick rope around his neck.

Furious at being roped like livestock Harry lunged at the man to knock him off his mount, but another rope circled his neck from behind, jerking him clear off his feet. He landed on his back with a cry and struggled to return to his feet as he heard the telltale pops of apparation.

One idiot actually tried to bodily hold him down and Harry quickly smashed his head in with a large hoof. Harry began to panic as another rope lashed onto his hoof and he flailed harder. His hoof struck one of the demon horses and there was a snap as its right front leg toppled under its weight. As the thing fell to the ground screaming Harry surged to his feet, throwing his captors off-balance.

Just as the tide seemed to be turning and Harry thought he would get out of this alive, a wizard flung himself on his back and jammed a huge syringe into his neck. Harry easily bucked the man off, but the damage was already done. His vision was going fuzzy and his body was turning numb.

Wheeling, Harry took one last shot at his aggressors before sinking to his knees and passing out


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had the hangover of the century when he woke up the next morning. He couldn't remember ever feeling this groggy before so he stayed down, confident that he could rest his legs. The unicorns would wake him if something was wrong.

Wait. Unicorns… Why didn't he smell the unicorns nearby? He had fallen asleep next to the blessing, so he should be able to smell them, but he didn't. His nose could barely sort through all of the weird smells it was receiving. Humans, horses, hay, cedar, leather… Cleaning products?

His ears swiveled sporadically as heard people running back and forth, talking, and animals snorting and stomping.

Where was he?

Lifting his heavy head from the hay covered ground, Harry found himself trapped inside a small box. Craning his head his eyes took it all in uncomprehendingly. The cedar wood walls, the hay covered floors, a blue feed bucket hanging on the wall. Harry was trapped in a horse stall! Last night's ordeal came flooding into his mind and Harry moaned in despair.

"Hey Withers! That new horse is awake," called a ruddy faced man as he peered at Harry through a small opening in the wall. Harry struggled to regain his footing in the small space. "Man, he sure is big. Beautiful too! He'll look even better after we clean him up."

"Move aside Daniel," came a gruff voice from he other side of the stall door. Harry had only just gained his footing when the door slid to the side and a haggard looking old man stepped inside.

Withers' was a stocky old man, whose stern expression immediately reminded Harry of his old friend Moody. He was dressed like an American cowboy and he held a bundle of rope in his hand… rope that looked an awful lot like a leash. Pinning his ears back and glaring at the man, Harry made it clear that the leash was not coming anywhere near him.

"Well aren't you a nasty blighter," grumbled Withers when Harry tried to bite him.

'You aren't exactly a bottle of sunshine either!' Harry neighed in return.

Withers gave a crooked smile. "No I'm certainly not."

Harry was so bloody shocked that the springy old man was able to snap the lead onto the halter and retreat before Harry even realized what just happened. Withers started pulling insistently on the lead, causing Harry to take a few steps out of the stall before he halted.

'How can you understand me? Hey! I'm talking to you!' Harry neighed, resolutely standing his ground until the wizard answered him.

"You want answers right," said Withers, turning to him, "and I want to get you all cleaned up and checked over by the healer. You help me get what I want and I'll help you get what you want." Harry contemplated just running over this irritating man. Deciding that he'd rather learn what he could first, and then run him over, Harry followed the man's lead.

Withers grunted, an odd smile twisting his lips. "This could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

Harry simply snorted was he was led past dozen of stalls. Some were empty, but most were filled with horses, both mundane and the extraordinary. There were unicorns, thestrals, pegasi, kirins, hippogriffs, hurrocks, and many other breeds he couldn't recognize.

Well, Harry thought, at least I'm being held prisoner in one of the nicest stables I've ever seen.

Exiting the stables, Harry craned his head to take in the area, and bloody hell if this wasn't horse heaven he didn't know what was. There were multiple stables, just like one he came out of, along with a few other buildings. A short walk away was a huge corral where some wizards were training various species to do various things. Past that was a grassy pasture that looked to be separated into sections by magical fences. To keep the hurrocks from eating the unicorns he was sure.

Before Harry could get a better look around, Withers started pulling on the lead again, and Harry followed grudgingly. He was led between some vertical posts, which was where the wizard finally tied him.

'About those answers," Harry started, but was shut up when a bur was painfully yanked from his tail. He glared viciously at the smirking man.

"First you get a bath," Withers informed him with a malicious glee, picking up a comb that might as well have been a medieval torture device judging by the state of Harry's mane.

What did I do to deserve this? Harry lamented miserably.

Kirin- A Japanese unicorn. It has a single antler in the middle of its forehead and its hide is mostly made up of carp scales. The kirin walks just above the ground so it doesn't tread on the grass blades.

Hurrock- A bat-winged horse with claws instead of hoofs.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was still wincing from the brutal combing when Withers and a stable boy finished lathering him up. As the two hosed him off Harry couldn't help but be a little grateful as he watched all the filth that had accumulated on his coat rinsed down the drain.

"Go get the healer boy," ordered Withers. The freckled boy nodded eagerly before dashing off. Snorting, Harry shook out his mane, sending a spray of droplets in Withers direction. The glare that followed let Harry know the old man hadn't appreciated it.

'So,' Harry started.

"Lift your hoof," Withers growled as he bent near Harry's leg with something that looked like a giant fishhook.

'Oh, hell no!' Harry stomped and tossed his head, yanking the rope that bound him to the post ineffectually.

"Stop being a baby," the wizard snapped, trying to wrestle Harry's hoof between his thighs, "It won't hurt."

'What is this place? Horse hell? Let go!' Harry successfully yanked his hoof away before planting it firmly on the old codger's arse, sending Withers sprawling into the dirt.

"Oof!"

Harry's victory was soon ended when the old man managed to tie his hooves to the posts and successfully scrape the bottoms out with the giant hook. He then proceeded to file and hammer some horseshoes on him.

"See," said Withers, standing in front of him with his gnarled hands on his hips, "that wasn't so bad was it?"

'I don't know. Why don't I hammer some metal into your feet and see how you like it?"

The old man made a dismissing gesture and a rude noise. Just as Harry was about to take a chunk out his face, a cooing voice came calling from behind him.

"Jeremy Withers! What have you done to this poor horse?" The voice's chidings seemed to make the man flush and fumble to cut the ropes tying Harry's hooves against the posts. Craning his head Harry looked behind him and saw a pretty, middle-aged woman in cowboy boots heading towards them, the stable boy was right behind her.

"Nothing Gertrude," Withers mumbled, "He was just getting a bit rowdy."

"I sure," scowled Gertrude. She turned to Harry and breathed, "God! He is gorgeous."

Harry quite liking this turn of events, and the jealous scowl on Withers' face, preened under the woman's attention. Prancing a little in place, he butted his head against her outreached hand. Gertrude giggled, and then turned to Withers with a frown.

"Rowdy huh?"

Withers looked contrite, but once she'd turned away he gave Harry a scathing glare. Feeling rather pleased with himself, he allowed the woman run her hands over him, finding nothing out of the ordinary Gertrude pulled out her wand to perform some diagnostic spells.

"Mediciotis!" she exclaimed, swishing her wand accordingly, but when the pale blue light of the spell touched Harry's flank it flickered out like a spent candle. Frowning, the healer cast the spell three more times to no avail. Harry watched her frustration grow with detached sort of pity, poor woman, couldn't cast spells right.

"What in the seven hells!" Gertrude shouted in exasperation.

Withers quirked his lips and peered at Harry, "That's odd," turning to Gertrude he started, "Are you sure—,"

The furious glare the healer sent his way immediately halted anything he was about to say.

"Ah? Healer Gertrude?" the stable boy began weakly, the healer looked at him, "I was, um, listening to the people who, you know, catch the horses, and I heard them saying that none of their stunners worked on this horse and they had to run it down and catch it with ropes like muggles." The boy squirmed under the weight of Withers' and Gertrude's gazes.

The healers face was at first blank, but soon comprehension dawned on her. Lifting her wand she shouted, "Accio Compendium!" After a few seconds a think tome came rocketing towards them, nearly braining an innocent bystander before landing in Gertrude's grasp. Hastily, she flipped through the books pages.

"Ah-ha!" she cried victoriously, showing the pages to Withers, "He is a Saxon Spell-Horse. Look, its written right here that direct spell casting has no effect on the breed, what's more he perfectly matches the description; large, totally black, broad nose, sloped head. It says here they were used over a thousand years ago as chargers for wizarding nobility!"

"It also says that the bloodline died out a thousand years ago," inserted Withers.

"Obviously it is wrong. Look right in front of you," Gertrude gestured to a rather confused equine, "There is no other horse breed that can completely nullify a spell like he just did. It is completely possible that a herd was formed in the wild and was able to avoid be recognized. You!" she pointed to the startled stable boy, "Where did the snatchers find this horse? Were there any others like him? Well, speak up!"

"I-in Normandy I think, and it was with a b-blessing of unicorns," the poor lad stuttered.

"That's disappointing," the healer said, "Either he is the last one or he was separated from his herd. Withers could you?" she trailed off, looking hopefully at the older man.

"Alright you oversized show pony," the old man growled as he pulled Harry's halter roughly so that they were looking at each other square in the face, "This young lady's got some questions, and you better have answers."

"Withers! You don't have to be so impolite!" she chastised.

'Whipped much?' Harry neighed smugly when Withers released his halter.

"I show you a whipping," he snarled.

"Withers!"

Harry whinnied as he watched his captor fumble for words in the face of feminine fury.

"Would you please," the old man nearly choked on the word, "answer Gertrude's questions?"

'Untie me first,' responded Harry imperiously.

"No way," he growled

'Then I won't answer any questions.'

The man's face went the color of puce as he jerkily untied the ropes from Harry's halter. Shaking his head at the new found freedom, Harry stepped out from the posts and turned so he stood before Gertrude. Looking down into her weathered, yet beautiful face, all he could see was Hermione staring back at him. This was why he avoided human contact; it was too easy to see the ghosts of his past among the living.

'Tell her that if there are others of my kind I have never known them,' Harry spoke without breaking his gaze with the healer. Withers relayed the message.

"But surely you knew your mother and her herd," said Gertrude.

'My mother and father died when I was very young. There were no others.'

The woman seemed crestfallen at that information. She continued her medical examination manually and administered vaccines in deflated silence. Harry felt kind of sorry for her. She really had been excited about rediscovering a Saxon Spell-Horse herd.

Harry noticed her body become still, her gaze locked somewhere near his flank, and he tried to discover where her intense stare had fallen. Dropping his head bellow his front legs the animagus looked between knees and found nothing noteworthy, just his belly and his…!

"That's it!" Gertrude cried out a zealous grin spreading over her face, "You're a virile young stallion, we'll breed you, and the bloodline will be reestablished! Can you imagine? A species thought to be extinct for a thousand years being bred here at Hard Tack's Horse Emporium!"

'Say what?'


	5. Chapter 5

Harry didn't know what was more disturbing, that he was being pimped out by his healer, or that he was being pimped out by someone who reminded him of Hermione.

Well, his initial assumption must have been wrong because there no way Hermione would ever do something like this…Harry smacked his head against his stall. Who the hell was he kidding? This is exactly the kind of thing Hermione would do. Though admittedly she'd never tried to breed him at Hogwarts, but the whole 'I'll do what I think is right and screw everyone who thinks I'm nutters!' was just the kind of attitude that terrorized the house elves in their fourth year. All that was missing was some completely inappropriate acronym, like BIMBO, the Bureau for Impregnating Mares with the Boy-who-lived's Offspring.

The remainder of the day after Gertrude's epiphany was rather dull. Harry would have liked to do some grazing in the pastures at least, but currently the whole horse ranch was cordoned and fenced off with magical barriers, which given the motivation, Harry could plow right through. So until the workers erected some substantial fences Harry was on lock down.

Lock down being code for stuck in horse stall. A very nice horse stall. After Gertrude decided Harry would make wonderful father she had zipped right off and returned with Hard Tack himself. Harry, still hoping someone would talk some since into the deranged woman, was flabbergasted when the man instantly agreed to make Harry a stud. He had actually, in an act of desperation, attacked the man, attempting to discredit his 'breedability' with aggression.

Totally backfired. Apparently this guy liked it when the stud was a mean piece work. Go figure.

The one good thing Harry had gotten out of this whole gig was the upgrade in living space. His new stall was about as luxurious as a horse stall could get, padded walls, soft hay, large, great food, horse blankets galore, and once they fenced it he would have his own private pasture. He had been moved to a completely different building where the cream of the crop was kept, no dallying with the lower class here.

Harry had spent most of the night contemplating escape, but was too indifferent to come to a solid decision. He figured if there was an opportunity to escape he would, but wouldn't force anything. Going with the flow was a good way of life as far as Harry was concerned. It was only when you tried to fight the current that you got nowhere.

Harry woke the next day when he heard the door of his stall door slide open. Blinking, he lifted up his head to see Gertrude's smiling face.

"Hey there sweetie! I've got a treat for you!" Beaming at him, the middle-aged witch proffered him an apple. A golden-green apple that was probably just as juicy and succulent as it looked—hey wait just a second!

Harry pinned back his ears and stomped. He knew a bribe when he saw one, and he'd be damned if he sold his loins out for an apple.

"Oh don't be such a grouch!" said Gertrude, shaking her head as she slipped the apple back in her coat pocket. "You know what? That's what I'm going to call you—Grouchy."

'And I think I'll call you my Pimp Daddy.'

Gertrude didn't hear him, of course, unlike that old coot Withers, who skipped out on him before answering his questions. The witch busied herself putting his halter on. He wouldn't have let her, but the leather was red and the fittings resembled gold, Gryffindor colors. Damn it if he wasn't sentimental. Soon Harry's huge equine body was being tugged around by an itty bitty witch who seemed to be on a mission.

"Grouchy meet Buttercup."

'Oh god.'

"You and Buttercup are going to be great friends and make little Saxon Spell-horse babies together."

'Oh god!'

There was another horse, a mare to be exact, standing in his pasture. Harry assumed it to be his pasture since it was fenced in the muggle way. It was flat and coved with sweet green grass with a large oak tree that cast half of the area in shade and it was everything he dreamed of. Only with a fat mare in heat right smack dab in the middle of it.

Harry tried to fight. He really did, but it was no use, and soon the paddock gate was swinging shut behind him. Locking him in with the mare, who seemed to looking at him like he had been looking at the apple.

'Hey there stud,' the thoroughbred practically purred, batting her blond lashes at him, and turning to lift her tail. Harry was embarrassed but unaffected by her charade, and determinedly cantered away.

'H-hey! Where do you think you're going?'

'Away from you,' snorted Harry as he tried to give the other horse a wide berth, despite her stalking after him.

'Get back here and mount me!" Buttercup cried out at him indignantly.

"No offence, but I'm not interested,' replied Harry as he trotted, keeping the tree between him and the pursuing female.

'Not interested?' Buttercup halted, 'What kind of a stud are you?'

'A not very good one,' Harry offered.

Buttercup seemed speechless.

'I get that a lot,' mumbled Harry as went to work grazing.

He just hoped his Pimp Daddy wouldn't be too disappointed.


	6. Chapter 6

Disappointed, yes. Resigned, hell no.

If anything Gertrude was more determined to get his horsy spunk anyway she could. Harry for the most part humored her, but he put his hoof down when she tried to get him to mount a dummy horse and collect his seed manually. And when all else failed, she sent Wither's to him to have a 'guy talk.'

Which quickly turned into 'the talk.'

That was about the time Harry stepped on his foot.

One day a man Harry didn't know peered in through the slot in his door at him. Despite being a little irritated Harry ignored the prying eyes, that is until the door slid open and he saw what the man had cradled in his arms.

There was no fucking way.

Behind the man, a young twenty-something arrogant-looking sod, stood Withers, and the old man must have seen it in Harry's eyes because he tried to dissuade the man from his self-destructive course.

"I don't think riding that beast will be good for your health Francis," grumbled Withers reluctantly, as if he hadn't wanted to warn him. Somehow, Harry got the feeling Withers did not like Francis.

"Hogwash! If that's the kind of attitude you've taken about his training, it's no wonder he's so unwieldy," Francis said rather pompously, "Gertrude was right to ask for my assistance if you've taken to letting a stupid brute walk all over you." The man gave a smug look to the foot Harry had stepped on.

Harry didn't know whether it was anger on his part for being called a stupid brute, or Withers' for being ridiculed, but Harry was ready to stomp this guy into the dust already.

Withers saw it and sighed, he had warned him.

With a rather confident look about him, Francis shoved the saddle into Withers' hands, strode into Harry's stable, and tried get a hold of his halter. Harry bit him. Francis cursed and jerked away, his handsome face crumpling into something ugly.

"You sonova—,"

"Perhaps," Withers said stoically as he shoved the saddle back into the trainer's arms, "I should saddle him up?"

"Then hurry up and do it!" Francis spat, dropping the saddle on the floor and storming out of the stable.

'Prat," Harry snorted after him, 'Who was that arrogant peacock?'

"Hard Tack's son," Withers answered gruffly, gesturing for Harry to exit the stall, "And the resident hotshot trainer."

'I'd ask if he's any good, but I think I already know the answer,' Harry snorted as he strode out of the stall and allowed the old man to brush his coat and mane. Man, he loved being brushed.

"Bastard's only as good as his whip," muttered Withers, running the currycomb down the stallion's neck. "You can be damned sure that Gertrude would have never sicced the likes of him on any horse, let alone you," he eyed the equine for a moment, "Lord knows why but she's taken a liking to you. Francis overheard her and me discussing you and decided to butt in. You really only have yourself to blame. If you had just admitted you were gay from the—"

'What!' Harry jerked his head up to stare at Withers' leathery face.

He gave the charger a rather sardonic look.

"You are a virile stallion in your prime that wouldn't touch a mare with a ten foot pole. How could you not be gay?"

'Maybe I just don't like being whored out for my seed!'

Withers ignored him as he ceased brushing and began cleaning his hooves. Harry was still brooding, feeling more that a little embarrassed he'd been called out on his sexuality, and that he couldn't dispute it, when he saw the crotchety old buzzard lift the saddle from the ground.

'No way in hell is that going on my back.'

Withers considered him for a long moment.

"The reason I can understand what you say is because I am horse-hearted," Withers suddenly told him, confusing the hell out of Harry.

'What?' Harry wondered if the wizard had finally gone senile.

"The first day you came here you asked how I could understand you when no one else could. The reason is that I am horse-hearted. I know in my heart what a horse is trying to say. I do not speak horse, it is unnecessary; horses have the unique ability to understand all languages though they lack the capacity to speak them. This is why I can hear you as you want to be heard."

'Why are you telling me this now?' asked Harry, rather confused at the wizard's sudden honesty after weeks of dodging questions.

"Because I am horse-hearted I know in my heart," Withers' voice became more passionate with every word, "How that piece of shit trains horses when no ones there to see. I feel their broken spirits in my heart after he's through with them, and I want to see you thrash that son of a bitch in broad daylight. I want your trouncing of him to make that egotist to show his true colors where someone other than the victim will see. That is why I am telling you this now, and that is why I want you to wear this saddle. So you can knock that trash off of it."

Harry decided Withers was dead wrong. He spoke horse with the best of them. Without hesitation Harry turned, offering his broad back, more than willing to bear the saddle as long as no one ever got comfortable on it.

Weight settled on his back and the stallion felt Withers tighten the girth under his belly. Next he pulled of Harry's halter and replaced it with a black leather bridle. Harry was rather displeased with the discomfort of the bit, but grudgingly accepted it. It would be a small price to pay to humiliate Francis.

Once he was finished Withers stood in front of him, and Harry could see the grudging pride in the old man's eyes as he gazed at him.

"There may be consequences for this," He growled.

'I know.'

"He could hurt you."

Harry snorted and Withers cracked a smile.

"I thought you'd say something like that."

'You think Gertrude will be mad?' Harry asked pensively, dealing out some revenge for being outed as a homosexual horse.

Withers paled.


	7. Chapter 7

The black, ornamental coach rolled smoothly away from Malfoy Manor, two magnificent white geldings pulling it. From within the velvet and silk lined coach the sound of the horses' heavy hooves striking the cobbles was quite quaint. Magic helped keep the wheels from bouncing and jolting on the uneven drive, but allowed just enough vibration that you had the sense that you were on the ground rather than floating on thin air.

Really the Dark Lord thought it artfully done. Though he'd expect nothing less from the Malfoys. Their family's very creed demanded that they strive for perfection, and as traditionalists they had had generations to perfect their technique.

Looking across the coach, Voldemort felt a certain pride at what he saw, the quintessential pureblood family. Even Draco, who he still had some doubts about, looked poised and prosperous. His wife, Daphne Malfoy nee Greengrass, was very pregnant and held her husband's hand just tightly enough to suggest a united front, but loosely enough that they didn't seem dependent on each other. Narcissa sat on the other side of her son, a hand on his knee and the other resting demurely on her lap. Thin lines had aged her face, and unlike many of the vainglorious harpies in the aristocracy, she did not try to hide them with spells or magic them away with potions. She embraced her aging face with a sort of vigor that both disgusted and impressed him.

Sitting by Voldemort's side was Lucius Malfoy, patriarch of the Malfoy family, his, if not most loyal, then most competent follower. Originally a death eater, Lucius now enjoyed the fruits of his labor in Voldemort's new regime as the United Kingdom's minister of magic. Pius Thicknesse, while useful during the silent takeover, proved inadequate at running a country for any length of time. Once that was apparent, Lucius then became the obvious choice for minister. There was a pretense of an election, but really the only thing Lucius needed to be elected was the Dark Lord's approval, which he had.

Many changes had swept the country in recent years, but the Malfoys' took everything in stride, setting an example for the rest of the populace to follow. One such example was the coach they were riding in. Before he had cleansed the wizarding world of muggle taint, wizarding families had actually begun to adopt muggle technologies like automobiles. Even the ministry itself had endorsed this disgusting betrayal to wizarding customs instead of standing against it as it should have. Now it was illegal to possess or produce muggle technology, with a lengthy sentence in Azkaban for repeat offenders.

His enemies outside of Great Britain criticized his policies as being medieval but Voldemort liked to think of it as a return to the traditions that set wizards apart from muggles.

"I and my family are most pleased that you have decided to join us on our outing, my Lord."

Voldemort's lips quirked a bit at the rebellious flash he saw in Narcissa's eyes. Perhaps Lord Malfoy was pleased but Lady Malfoy must be furious if she showed so much as a moment of dissension.

"Thank you Lucius," Voldemort purred, watching Narcissa with a slytherin's amusement, "I do hope I'm not intruding, but when I learned where you were taking young Draco for his birthday my curiosity was piqued."

Lucius sent a censuring look at his wife before replying, "Are you considering filling those empty stables at your manor my Lord? Hard Tack's Horse Emporium would be a good place to start such an endeavor. The quality of their stock is only rivaled by the sheer variety they carry."

The manor Lucius was referring to used to be the Gaunt family's ancestral home before his great grandfather gambled it away to a light family who were conveniently killed during the brief war after his rise to power. Very convenient considering he was obliged to move out of Malfoy Manor once he acquired the estate. He was of half the mind that Narcissa Malfoy had orchestrated the entire event to oust him from her home. She was a slytherin after all.

"I would expect nothing less of an establishment you frequent Lucius," charmed Voldemort, "The Gaunt stables have recently been restored to it's former glory and are ready to serve it's purpose once again. Sadly I am inexperienced in choosing one horse from another, I feel it will be less daunting if I first see you doing so." The Dark Lord could practically see the Minister's ego inflating. In his reckless youth Voldemort would have never admitted ineptness to another, but now he knew that allowing someone to see a perceived weakness was one of the greatest manipulations of all.

"I would be honored to assist you in any capacity my Lord," said Lucius, bowing his head submissively, but he caught a glint of satisfaction in the former death eater's eyes that bellied the contentment he surely felt at being needed by his lord.

There was a sudden ripple of reality that signaled the coach was passing through a portal. Portal-making was yet another of the long forgotten arts that Voldemort had revived in the country. Art being the essential word. So much of the beauty in magic had been disregarded in the modern era as unnecessary, the organized chaos in an array and the careful dedication a portalsmith used to bend the muggle laws of time and space were promptly thrown in the rubbish bin once even the simplest of fools could apparate and create portkeys. It is and has always been Voldemort's fondest wish to restore magic to it's rightful glory rather than uphold the monument to incompetence and inability it had become.

The trip was considerably shortened by the portal's help and soon the black coach was gliding over the rough country road toward Hard Tack's Horse Emporium.

"Are you excited Draco?" Narcissa quietly asked her son, stroking a long-fingered hand through his hair.

"Mother," he replied impatiently with a perceptible whine, "I'm twenty-one not twelve, don't coddle me like a little boy." Voldemort couldn't but agree with him as his mother's constant babying had hardly helped the boy mature into a capable adult like his father.

"You'll always be my little boy," she admonished, smiling even as Draco gave a disgruntled huff.

"We are here," announced Lucius just before the driver halted the horses and the coach came to a stop in front of the entrance.

"Finally," breathed Daphne with a smile, her right hand resting on her swollen belly.

"Are you unwell?" Voldemort asked curiously, a sudden and unwelcome thought of his own mother came to mind.

"Motion sickness is common late in the pregnancy my Lord, thank you for asking."

"Are you able to walk around with us?" asked Draco as the driver pulled open the coach doors and Lucius ducked out.

"Nothing a bit of fresh air won't fix, husband of mine," assured Daphne as she angled her self to step out of the coach with the drivers help. Draco and Narcissa followed soon after her and then Voldemort stepped out from the dark coach and into the bright light of the May afternoon.

Lucius was already speaking with large, balding man who seemed to be overly excited.

"My Lord may I introduce Mister Tack, the owner of this fine establishment."

"Charmed." Hard Tack's mouth split into a wide grin which revealed a gold tooth. Voldemort could just barely hold back a shudder of disgust.

"It's an honor to meet you my Lord," crowed the man, his chest puffing up like a strutting rooster. "I had already known Lord Malfoy was looking for a new nag for his boy, but this is quite a surprise!"

"A welcome surprise I hope," he said cooly as he looked bast the man's bulk and to the massive collection of stables, barns, corrals, and pastures. Stable boys ran to and fro with buckets of water and bales of hay. Trainers led horses through the grounds, some of who followed placidly beside the trainer while others fought tooth and nail to escape their captors.

"Oh yes, yes certainly," Hard Tack nodded enthusiastically, "In fact I have recently acquired something I think you'll be very interested in my Lord."

As Voldemort highly doubted that the man had anything that would pique is interest to that degree, he said, "Perhaps later. This is Draco's big day after all, you should be attending to his needs."

Hard Tack blinked at the rebuke, but thankfully turned back to his other patrons. Something about the man simply irritated the hell out of him. It must be the gold tooth. Lord Voldemort despised gold teeth.

"So what species are you interested in acquiring today, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Mr. Tack as the group walked farther into the grounds.

"I want a look at your water-breeds," replied Draco, "I've taken up water polo recently and I need a reliable mount."

"Ah, yes, a fine sport. I sell most of my water-dwellers to water poloists. I have quite a few kelpies and I recently received a white hippocampa from a colleague in Greece. Follow me, we'll be going to the wet stables," rambled Hard Tack as he led the group towards the tallest of the buildings.

As Draco and the peddler talked Voldemort glanced about the busy compound. For a brief moment he caught sight of very large black horse standing just inside a stable. The animal was allowing itself to be saddled and Voldemort felt a bit of confusion at his own thought. An animal obeyed, it didn't allow anything, as if it were graciously lowering itself to do the bidding of humans.

Their pace afforded him only a glimpse but the thought persisted.


	8. Chapter 8

As it turned out, Gertrude was furious.

"Just what in the seven hells do you think you're doing!"

Withers winced as he finished tying up the saddle irons. Taking the reins he turned himself and Harry to face the enraged woman who stood between them and the stable door.

"Francis wants to ride Grouchy," Withers deadpanned, that ridiculous nickname Gertrude had given Harry sounding even more ludicrous when he said it.

"And you're just going to let him!" she shrieked, throwing her hands up in the air and stalking towards them. Harry couldn't but be amused by the look on Withers' face.

"I can't order him not to," he defended, "Hard Tack isn't doing anything about his behavior and won't hear an ill word against him. The horse and I have a plan to reveal Francis' true nature in front of everyone, you don't need to worry." Now, Harry wasn't a fan of 'Grouchy' but at least it was better than 'the horse'.

"I don't need to worry," Gertrude cried, "Don't tell me I don't need to worry! Have you forgotten about what happened to Bluebell!" Withers' face crumpled in sorrow.

'Who's Bluebell?' asked Harry. Withers looked at him, then away.

"Bluebell was a sweet little mare, but wasn't a very fast runner. She wasn't nearly as fast she should have been for her breed and Francis decided it was because she was lazy," his voice became hard and choked. "He worked her so fast and so hard, hitting her as often as he could, that her heart exploded in her chest."

Harry was so horrified, he took a step back as if he could flee from the atrocity.

"Yes," Gertrude hissed past her strained face, "With further examination we found out that Bluebell couldn't run very fast because she had an enlarged heart, not because she was lazy!" Her last word was nearly screamed and a few stable boys stopped their work and ogled their small group. When she spoke again her voice was more subdued. "And you're going to risk the same happening to Grouchy?" She sniffled and ducked her head, hiding her angry tears.

Harry couldn't believe it, this woman, who he hardly knew, was crying in fear of what could happen to him. This was what he had ran from all those years ago, and yet it had all caught up to him in the end.

Pulling the reins from Withers' lax grip, Harry stepped forward until he was standing in front of Gertrude. With a sniff she looked up and then stumbled a step back when Harry pressing his huge head against her chest. Gasping in surprise, she clung to Harry's head and buried her face in his foamy black mane.

'Nothings going to happen to me,' Harry whispered it to her in words she couldn't understand. When he pulled away Harry thought Gertrude wouldn't let him go but she did, turning away and striding out as she did so. Harry and Withers watched her go with similar thoughts. Looking back at the old man, Harry said, "Well, are we going to kick some Francis ass, or not?"

The man's dry lips quirked into an even dryer smile.

"Or not."

Draco indeed became quite enamored with hippocampa, white of course, and Lucius was in the process of purchasing and planning its transport when Voldemort noticed the stir happening amongst the workers. Stable boys dashed to and fro imparting excited whispers to their peers before dashing back outside the stables, often followed by others abandoning their posts.

Despite his preoccupation with Lucius, Hard Tack seemed to notice this himself and barked at a fleeing stablehand, "You there! Where are you going? Whats this ruckus about?" Stumbling, the embarrassed boy turned back to his employer.

"Francis is going to try to ride Grouchy and everyone is going to the pen to watch," answered the boy nervously, his eyes darting to the exit as if contemplating flight.

"What?" Hard Tack looked shocked and angry all at once. "That stallion is for breeding not riding! I told Francis to stay away from him unless he wanted to get killed! Lord Malfoy I hope you will excuse me for a moment, I need to handle this."

"Certainly Mr. Tack, our business is finished anyway," spoke Lucius though the Dark Lord could tell the pureblood was irritated with the dismissal. Hard Tack hesitated, not sure what to do, but then there came a collective shout from outside With a curse, both he and the stablehand ran out of the barn.

The horrified and excited screams were just too tempting for the Dark Lord to pass up and he also began to exit the barn, "Are you coming Lucius?"

"Ah, yes, My Lord," he responded, he and his family following behind.

Harry was ready to hurt Francis before he got onto his saddle, now he wanted to kill him.

"Whoa, Whoa, WHOA!"

That idiot could 'whoa' all he wanted but Harry wasn't going to stop bucking. Harry knew within a minute of that low-life being on his back that he had cheated. The saddle must have been spelled with a sticking charm because Francis' ass hadn't moved a bit since it got there, and not for lack of trying on Harry's part.

'Ow, you bastard!' cried Harry as Francis' spurs dug into his sides hard enough to cut skin. Okay, how do you get rid of something stuck on your back? You crush it.

With surge of strength Harry dashed toward the corral's fence, slamming his right side against it to crush his rider's leg. Francis gasped in pain but he pulled so hard on the right rein that Harry was force to curl his body into the fence, keeping him from grinding the limb into pulp. With the bit sawing at his soft mouth Harry was forced to back up, bloody foam dripping from his lips.

Distantly he was aware of the growing crowd surrounding the corral, but he could hardly pay attention to it at the moment. He had to beat Francis and it was turning out to be harder than he thought. The bastard knew exactly how to counter his tricks and Harry was tiring.

His sides heaving and coated with sweat, Harry stopped fighting and simply stood still.

"That wasn't so hard," Francis boasted from the horse's back, believing he had won. Cheers came from the stable boys, all to stupid to realize the sheer abuse their idol had just inflicted on his mount, but the more experienced staff were disgusted. From the crowds Hard Tack emerged, pushing others aside as he came to the fence.

"By Merlin, Francis! What do you think you're doing? I told you that horse was not to be ridden!" Hard Tack thundered as climbed the fence and began to stride toward them.

"But you were wrong father! This horse isn't dangerous at all! Just another dumb-AH!"

With his opponent distracted Harry seized his opportunity. Rearing on his back legs, Harry yelled his victory even as he fell backwards, because Francis, in his surprise, had made a rookie mistake. Never pull back on a rearing horse.

Harry's huge 1500 pound body landed not with a crash, but a squish.


	9. Chapter 9

When the panicked crowd parted Voldemort could see the horse he'd noticed before struggling to regain it's footing. As the beast rolled over and stood a limp body dangled uselessly from the saddle. Rushing forward, Hard Tack was delayed when the horse turned and tossed his head threateningly at the man.

The crowd plunged into an uproar and many workers ran forward to help, but also backed up when the beast turned onto them. They might have never gotten close to the horse but for a sour looking old man who strode forward and knocked the animal in the nose. The horse stumbled back a step before lunging forward to snap at the wizard's retreating hand.

"Calm down, you nasty bugger and we'll get him off of you," the old man snapped loudly enough that Voldemort could hear him over the pandemonium. The horse tossed its head again, but allowed the men to detach it's unfortunate rider.

"We need a healer!" someone yelled and a woman ran into the pen with her wand drawn.

"What an impressive beast," commented Lucius his eyes roving over the stallion's lines.

"You aren't thinking of buying it are you?" faltered Draco as he came to stand by them. "Did you not see how it just flattened its trainer?"

"Draco," scolded his mother, "Don't you see those cuts on its sides. Hard Tack's boy was far to liberal with his spurs and a horse does not fall over like that unless its rider unbalances it."

The mangled trainer was now laid out flat on the ground while the witch attempted to keep him alive long enough for emergency St. Mungo's healers to get there. To give them space the old man had led the stallion to the opposite side of the corral, which was conveniently near them.

"Are you thinking of buying it?" Draco asked again though with less skepticism.

"That depends," answered Lucius, before taking a step closer to the fence, "Sir, may I inquire as to the breed of that stallion?"

The old man, who along with the horse had been facing away, turned to them. His eyes were narrow beneath the rim of his woven cowboy hat and his cracked lips were twisted in a sour line.

"This beast is a Saxon Spell-horse," he answered curtly. The name must have meant something to Lucius because he seemed very pleasantly surprised and his eyes shined with greed. Surprisingly the name meant something to the Dark Lord as well, but he couldn't quite remember where he'd heard it. He had done some preliminary research on horses recently but he didn't think that's were he heard the name.

"Truly? I was under the impression that the breed had died out centuries ago. How ever did you acquire him? Can you prove his lineage?" The man shrugged.

"Our snatchers found in the wild, and his lineage was apparent when none of our spells worked on him."

"Hard Tack mentioned he was a breeding stallion," Narcissa cut in, "Has there been any foals yet?"

"Ah," the man looked uncomfortable, "No, not yet."

"That's disappointing," Lady Malfoy gestured to the worker with an elegant hand, "Could you bring him closer?" The man obviously didn't want to but nevertheless gave the reins a sharp tug and turned the horse in a wide circle in order to bring it closer to them.

'Holy shit! What are the Malfoys doing here?'

"You know these people?" muttered Withers quietly, his face ducked close to Harry's neck.

'Er,' Harry was not used to anyone being able to hear what he said, and had slipped. 'Never mind.' Withers gave him a look but obviously didn't really care enough to ask again.

Harry hadn't even realized it was the Malfoys talking about him until Withers had turned him around. They were the last people he thought he'd run into again. The last time he had seen them was when he, Ron, and Hermione had been captured and taken to their home. The trio had fled Britain not long after their escape.

And now he was being paraded around in front of his enemies like they were thinking of buying him. . . Wait, can they do that? He was stud, albeit a bad one, but didn't that mean he wasn't for sale? Just before he could ask Withers, a cultured voice broke through his thoughts.

"Lucius, where have I heard of Saxon Spell-horses before?"

Harry's ears automatically swiveled to take in that shiver-inducing voice. Zoning in on it, he found himself appreciating a handsome thirty-something man.

'Whoa, I wouldn't mind taking him for a ride,' neighed Harry and Withers tripped.

"Wh-what?" Withers stuttered, his face turning red.

'What?' Harry snapped. 'You already knew I was gay.'

"I didn't know you were into bestiality!" Withers whispered harshly.

'Oh,' Harry had forgotten that they were completely different species at the moment. Man, now Withers thought he was a huge pervert. 'Don't worry Withers, your virtue is safe from me.'

That probably wasn't the right thing to say.


	10. Chapter 10

"Lucius, where have I heard of Saxon Spell-horses before?"

"They are a very rare breed my Lord," answered Lucius warily, "Before such traditions were abandoned the Saxon Spell-horse was the steed of nobles. Most specifically, Salazar Slytherin was known to breed them."

Voldemort's sanguine eyes widened as the stared at the beast before him. Now he remembered the thin, black leather bound book he had found in a false drawer in the library of Gaunt Manor. It's title The Standards of Perfection by Salazar Slytherin stood out starkly in gold lettering. He had been so overjoyed at finding another lost relic of his ancestor that he very nearly damaged it in his haste to read it. Yet instead of a personal journal or a spellbook, Tom had been disappointed to find that it was a horse breeding journal. Uninterested, he had quickly scanned the pages, but found nothing he could use. Despite his disappointment Voldemort carefully wove preservation charms about the book and place it in a glass display in his library.

He, himself, had little interest in horses but if this beast had a connection to his ancestor, then Lord Voldemort had to have it.

"I'll take it."

"My Lord?"

"I'll take the stallion," Voldemort reiterated, turning away, "Make the arrangements Lucius."

"Yes My Lord," Lucius replied hesitantly.

"Can he do that?" whispered Harry without looking away from the man's retreating back. His very strong, sexy back.

"He is the Dark Lord," Withers muttered, looking unhappy.

"What?" Harry cried out as he reared back, arching his neck and nearly tugging the reigns out of Withers' hands. Withers spared him a glare but also patted his neck soothingly just before Lucius Malfoy demanded his attention.

"Our Lord Voldemort desires this stallion," Lucius sneered with all the authority of a self-important lackey, "Have him prepared for immediate transport as soon as the purchase is made." With last sneer he turned away to go find Hard Tack, assuming that his orders would be carried out without question.

Meanwhile, Harry was nearly hyperventilating. He had to get out of here before Voldemort, who was apparently the sexy man, found out he was Harry Potter and tried to kill him again! How the hell did Snake-face get so sexy anyway! Is that even possible? Had he discovered the boy-who-lived's weakness for older men who happened to be authoritarian figures? Was this some kind of trap?

"Looks like you got that date you wanted," Withers grunted as he began to pull him back towards the barn. "Though I wouldn't try anything if I were you. I doubt the Dark Lord would welcome your advances."

'Oh hardy fucking har! Lets all make fun of the gay horse! Meanwhile I've just been sold! Like a piece of meat, Withers!'

"What'd you expect!" The man snapped bitterly, jerking to face him. "This is a business! To these people all you are is a way to make money, get used to it!" Taken aback, Harry searched Withers' face finding only bitterness and self-disgust, but also resignation. Withers didn't want this anymore than he did, horses were people to him, friends even. He understood the wrongness of this situation, but he couldn't fight it. Maybe he had once, but now he looked as broken as the beings he helped enslave. Harry would find no help from him.

'I'll just have to help myself.'

Thinking him sufficiently cowed, Withers began to turn again, and Harry seized his opportunity. With a great war cry the animagus reared, ripping the reigns from the old man's hands, the force of which pulled Withers right off of his feet, and as Harry came down the trainer just barely avoided being crushed. Bunching his muscles, Harry sprang forward into a gallop.

Cries of alarm rang out through the compound as people realized there was an out of control horse, the same horse that had pancaked Francis. Fiery spells arched toward him but fizzled out as soon as they touched his skin.

"No! No! Spells don't work! Use the potions! Use the potions!"

The hell if he would fall for that again, if anyone came near him with one of those tranquilizers he would stomp their asses into the ground.

Yet again the screams drew the Dark Lord's attention.

A few yards away Lucius was finalizing the purchase of the stallion with a very distracted and grief-stricken Hard Tack. His son, or his son's corpse for that matter, was already well on his way to St. Mungos. The least the man could do was take care of business before falling apart. Voldemort did not want to be here all day.

It was when he was finally at the point crucioing the man to speed up the process that the ruckus began.

"Horse loose, horse loose!"

Pandemonium seemed erupt as stablehands dropped they were doing and rushed to help. The sound of spellfire erupted in the center of the facility.

"No! No! Spells don't work! Use the potions! Use the potions!" Someone cried out.

"Herd him towards the wards! We'll pin him there!" Came another shout, closer than before. From behind a building the stallion Voldemort had just been buying came barreling forward, unstopped but rather spurred on by spells that fell at its flanks.

Hard Tack nearly jumped out of his skin. "No you fools! The wards won't hold! They won't hold hold!"

Even as the man shouted in vain, something seemed to change in the horse. Its long, ground-eating strides became shorter, more powerful, and its neck bowed until the beast's head was held like a battering ram. With hardly a few seconds to notice the change, the animal careened past them and slammed head first into the warded perimeter. For a moment he thought that the stallion's neck would snap as it ran into the magical equivalent of a brick wall, but with a great, luminous flash the wards bowed and broke in the beast's wake.

The worker's cries of shock were nearly drowned out by the horse's triumphant bugle as continued race away, unheeded by wards or spells. Fools.

In one smooth motion Voldemort reached inside his robes, pulled out his wand, and cast a spell, not at the horse but at the ground beneath its feet. With a squeal of surprise the stallion suddenly became sunk to its knees in mud. Tripping, it fell even further and nearly its entire body became encased in the muck. Striding forward, Lucius and Hard Track trailing uselessly behind, Voldemort quickly dealt out another spell that froze the mud, trapping the horse in the ground.

Such simpletons to not consider that indirect spells would be far more effective that hurling magic at the beast's impervious skin and hoping for a miracle.

Having reached the stallion, Voldemort smirked down at it with confirmed superiority. The animal looked dazed at first, as many defeated foes were like to do, but then instead of bowing its head in defeat, as it should have done, Voldemort had bested it after all, it instead glared back defiantly into the Dark Lord's eyes.

Harry had almost made it. He had almost been free again. He had even shattered the ward fence around Hard Tack's Horse Emporium, don't even ask how he'd done it, and he'd thought he was home free. Only he hadn't been.

Suddenly the ground under him had turned to a mud pit that nearly swallowed his whole body. Harry's head was the only thing above the surface when the muck was then frozen, trapping him more securely than any cage.

Confused at his sudden incarceration, Harry had looked up at the sound of footsteps and found himself staring up at Mr. Sexy, aka Voldemort. If Harry had any doubts as to his identity, the arrogant smirk that curled his lips, along with his dark red eyes gave him all the confirmation he needed. Somehow the monster who'd killed his parents was no longer very monster-like on the outside and that didn't sit well with Harry.

Glaring up at the arrogant bastard, the animagus lifted his lips and bared his teeth, issuing a fearsome challenge. The arrogance slowly melted off the Dark Lord's face and was replaced by something even more prideful and poisonous.

"You would do well to let go of that rebelliousness, Stallion. Lest I beat it out of you. I am your master and as the mastered you shall show me proper deference, for I will brook no disobedience from a mere beast." Voldemort hissed at him, his eyes flashing with malice and outright authority.

Staring up at the man, Harry froze, his equine eyes wide. No, no, no, no! This isn't possible, this wasn't happening...Oh shit, it was happening. Harry squeezed eyes shut with embarrassment, suddenly glad that his lower half was encased in the earth.

Merlin he did not just get an erection.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry was once again, trapped in a stall.

Merlin, he was having a bad week.

After the horribly embarrassing incident his traitorous penis had subjected him to, he had been knocked out (again!) by a potion, only to wake up (again!) in strange surroundings. The stall he was in now was smaller than the one he had before, but this one was more airy and he could stick his neck over the gate. Scoping out the stable he was in, Harry realized that he was the only horse around, despite the rows of perfectly tended stalls.

Slowly the realization that Voldemort had finally trapped him sunk in. Panicked and desperate for a way out, Harry did the one thing he'd promised himself he'd never to do.

For the first time in three years, Harry tried to turn back into a human.

And failed.

"I don't see why you need that deer-creature."

Voldemort glanced up from the book he was studying, Techniques for the beginning Equestrian, and gave his familiar a level stare.

"I will eat it," Nagini threatened and he nearly snorted.

"I do not think you will succeed, my dear." Voldemort thumbed past a page with an animated picture showing how one would properly mount a horse. He refused to hire an instructor to teach him, and would instead learn how to use his latest purchase himself. He already felt all the closer to his ancestor after finally reading his book The Standards of Perfection. He could only imagine how he would feel astride a living heirloom of Slytherin.

"I would like to try," she hissed darkly.

"Jealously is unbecoming, my dear. Are you afraid I will neglect you?"

"You already are," the snake sulked, "you haven't stroked me once since I came in."

"Shall I rectify that?" Voldemort said dryly, lifting his hand and Nagini gave an eager hiss.

"If you harm my master, I will eat you!"

Harry, who had been staring at the wall, silently fuming, didn't need to turn around to recognize Nagini's voice. He would much rather ignore the bitchy snake.

"I know you are dumb, deer-creature, but you will look at me when I speak to you!" the snake lunged forward, past the stall's barrier, and snapped at his hock. Within seconds Harry had whipped around, faster, he was sure, than Nagini though he could move, and reared. With an angry scream, Harry brought his huge hooves down with cracking force. Nagini was frozen with fear between the two legs that could have killed her, when Harry leaned his face down bared his teeth at the snake.

"Get out of my space, you lowly little belly-crawler," he hissed, too insanely angry to think straight. He wasn't even angry at the snake, not really, she was just a target he could take it out on. No, he was really only angry at himself. It was his own fault he was in this mess, there were so many things he could have done differently, but had he had been too arrogant for his own good.

Stinking of fear, Nagini withdrew from the stall slowly, not taking her gaze off of him for a second. Harry sneered at her as she went, until he heard footsteps approaching.

"Master," the snake whimpered.

"Nagini," the man chided, "I told you you couldn't eat him."

"But it speaks master," she hissed as she curled herself around the Dark Lord's ankle, "How can it speak? It is a stupid deer-creature! It cannot speak! It should only listen!"

Voldemort's handsome face drew back with surprise, and then his scarlet gaze landed penetratingly on him. Harry probably should have been unnerved, but if anything he was relieved that the Dark Lord's eyes were the same as they had been. Maybe it would remind his lower half who exactly it was getting excited for.

"Does it," he breathed, and Harry discovered that, no, his prick did not care what color this gorgeous man's eyes were, as long as his voice sounded like that.

Voldemort took a step forward, and Harry took a step back.

"Well, beast? Do you speak, or are you too stupid?" the man taunted, stepping forward once again, but when Harry tried to step back his rear was pressed to the wall. His stall was suddenly much smaller than he remembered. The walls were closed so tightly on him that he could not move.

"And where has all that bravery gone?" Voldemort mocked and Harry pinned back his ears, his old anger returning. It wasn't that Harry wasn't brave! He chose to stay as he was, because it was what he wanted! He was tired of being told what he could and couldn't do, and no one ever understood! "A coward, hmm? I should have known. The horse is known for its cowardice, after all. They were made for running away."

"I AM NOT A COWARD!" Harry screamed into the Dark Lord's face.

"So it does speak, Nagini, well done," he commended the snake, glancing condescendingly at him. "My ancestor was truly great, teaching an animal to speak."

"Your ancestor taught me nothing, bastard!" Harry hissed, too angry to care.

"Perhaps it is worthy enough to be my steed," Voldemort continued talking to the snake, as if Harry had never spoke.

"It'll be a cold day in hell before I let you on my back!" Harry's spite was temporarily satisfied when Voldemort's blazing eyes connected with his. The man's (kissable) lips pressed into a furious line and his hand shot up to snatch his halter.

"I will ride you, whether you like it or not, beast," the DarkLord hissed as he handled Harry's head domineeringly. The animagus bared his teeth in response.

"Just try," the stallion threatened, "And I'll do to you what I did to the last idiot who tried to ride me."

"You, stupid animal that you are, do not seem to understand your situation. I own you. I am your Master. You belong to me. You eat on my mercy. You live on my mercy. If I had mind to, if you so displeased me, I could leave you to starve to death in this very box." And then Voldemort harsh, cold voice turned into something seductive. "If you pleased me, I would reward you. Feed you, care for you, fulfilling all your needs. It's your choice, beast, but either way I will mount you by the end of the day."

Voldemort must have taken Harry's silence as an answer, returning the stall to its natural state, and walking away, his snake slithering behind him. Harry watched him go, a devilish feeling rising in his chest.

Oh no, my Master, I think it will be I who mounts you.


	12. Chapter 12

This story belongs to someone else who has long since abandoned it. It is not mine, however i thought it regrettable that it would go to waste like this.

So this story will no longer be updated however i am looking for people to take it up.

**SO PLEASE ADOPT!**


	13. Chapter 13

p style="text-align: center;"This story is no longer up for adoption/p 


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